


The Air In Your Woven Mouth

by stolen_arts



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Depression, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I swear to god this is happier than it looks lmao, Mental Health Issues, OCD, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, also a five feet apart au, classic lit references in MY fics?, it's more likely than you think, they both have cystic fibrosis and are staying in the same ward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26559889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stolen_arts/pseuds/stolen_arts
Summary: In which Annabeth cares less about soulmates than about living to see tomorrow, but her world is thrown off its axis by the new boy in her hospital ward who doesn't seem to care about anything at all.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Jason Grace/Piper McLean
Comments: 23
Kudos: 115





	1. deliberations and delusions / the big sleep

ANNABETH

Human touch, Annabeth had decided, was not all it was made out to be. Everyone was always touching one another in some way—because any stranger could be your soulmate. And who wouldn't want a soulmark? A little blossom of colour on your skin. A reassurance from the universe that _you are worth something to someone._

Sometimes, it seemed to Annabeth like a soulmate was all anyone ever wanted. Never mind new lungs, never mind a few more years of her existence. A soulmate would fix everything, right? God, they were all so deluded. All Annabeth wanted was to survive, to be there for her dad for a little while longer.

That's what Annabeth was saying to Leo. "I wish they'd all shut the hell up about it. Don't you?"

The pair of them were sitting in the hospital's atrium, sprawled over beanbags. Leo snorted. "I know. It seems like every morning I wake up to see someone new has posted a photo of them and their soulmate showing off their marks. Like anyone else really gives a shit."

Annabeth sighed heavily, adjusting her cannula. She was staring up at the ceiling, at the pristine white paint. "People our age are busy planning the rest of their lives with their soulmate and us two are stuck here clawing our way to next week."

Leo grinned. His smile was razor sharp. Annabeth always thought it made him look like some sort of little animal. A ferret, maybe. "Speak for yourself. I'm living life to the fullest—Michael's taking me out during visitation hours on Saturday to get lunch together. At _Starbucks._ This ghetto kid's never known such luxury."

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "I swear you two have literally only talked over FaceTime. He could be an asshole in person."

"He won't be. And come on, I'm already in love with his beautiful, slightly pixelated brown eyes. Did you know he plays guitar? 'Cause I fucking didn't, and now I'm all caught up in a fantasy where I get to be his trophy husband and go with him on tour."

A laugh burst from Annabeth's throat. "The impossible life we all dream of having."

Leo shook his head. "If only, Beth. If only."

Right then, the atrium door banged open. Annabeth's head jerked to find the source of the noise, and her eyes landed on a guy wearing a hospital gown and a cannula. He was swearing viciously as he walked, middle finger raised over his shoulder to whoever was behind him. "You can't just keep me locked up in one glorified asylum after another! You hear me?" The guy mumbled something under his breath as he strode past Annabeth. "Fucking sadists."

A nurse hurried through the door after him, a disgruntled expression on her face. "Jackson, you get your ass back here or so help me—"

Jackson whirled around, his messy black hair landing in his eyes. A strand of it was caught in his tube. "You'll do what?"

The nurse looked at a loss. She approached Jackson slowly, as if he were a cornered animal. "Be rational," she said, hands placating. "Other cystic fibrosis patients would kill for the trial you've been offered. This is an opportunity. I don't want you to squander it."

Jackson's lips curled. His hands clenched into fists, then relaxed, then clenched again. With a scoff, he turned and left the atrium.

Eyes wide, Annabeth turned back to Leo. "Who's that jackass?"

Leo grimaced. "New patient on our ward. Heard Cynthia saying he's got B. cepacia."

"Wow. Unlucky sucker."

"Right? Wouldn't want that shit in my lungs. They're struggling along as it is." Leo reached for the half-eaten pudding cup he'd set down on the table and shovelled another spoonful into his mouth. When he spoke next, it was around a mouthful of chocolate mousse. "Anyway, let me tell you more about Michael—"

* * *

Through Annabeth's personal experience, days in the CF ward tended to blend into one another. Wake up, take her medication. Wear the percussion vest for a while. Read some Jane Austen. Cough up painful amounts of the mucus sitting in her lungs. Maybe read a little more, or—if the compulsive thoughts in her head were running rampant—organise her med cart for the ten thousandth time.

But the arrival of the new CF patient on their ward had thrown a spanner in the works of Annabeth's life. Every day, she'd find herself noticing the tired boy with the black hair and the bottle-green eyes a little more. The way he disobeyed rules, left his cannula in his room. The way every nurse and doctor seemed especially wary of him.

Annabeth wondered how someone could have such little regard for their own life. It seemed ridiculous to her. Fighting for survival had been her number one priority for as long as she could remember. The thought of leaving her dad alone with his unstable life was awful to her; after her mum's death, she'd been desperate to stay alive. Annabeth had always supposed to be the one who was going to die, not her perfectly healthy mother. Not that it'd mattered in the end.

It didn't take long before seeing Jackson everywhere on the ward became daily routine. She found him unsettling. He bit every hand that tried to help him, making Annabeth wonder how he was even on the trial. He was probably a rich kid—a terminally ill rich kid, yeah, but a rich kid nonetheless. After all, Cevaflomin trials were fairly hard to come by if your parents weren't the type who could dole money out on demand.

* * *

Annabeth's room was sickeningly organised, by Leo's assessment. Her books were neatly set up by the author's surname, their yellowed spines lined up like prisoners along her desk space. Her med cart was stacked in such a way that Annabeth didn't have to panic when she thought about it. Her bed was always crisply made in the mornings, six times over.

It was crazy. But Annabeth _knew_ she was crazy, which made it alright. Self-awareness was a virtue, at least. Leo always joked that the world around Annabeth had to reflect the way it was in her head, whenever she hung out in his dorm and found herself straightening the framed photos of Jason and Piper on Leo's shelves or reorganising the boxes of vinyl Leo kept by the door without even realising it.

Maybe these weren't rational things to do from an outside perspective. But they were rational in Annabeth's head.

Anyway. Annabeth was in her room right now, phone held to her ear. Piper's voice echoed out of it, a little static around the edges. "I really wish you were here, Annie. Spring break is never the same without you _."_

To tell the truth, Annabeth had forgotten it was spring break. She hadn't been to school in a while, and all she'd done for Christmas was talk to her dad on the phone and binge-watch Hallmark movies with Leo. They hadn't done gifts. They never did. "I know. Maybe next year I'll be out of here," Annabeth replied, even though she doubted she'd be leaving unless she maybe, possibly reached the top of the transplant list before she bit it.

Piper made a kissy sound through the phone. Annabeth kind of wished she wouldn't do that—it sounded all distorted through her phone's broken speakers. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, yeah? I've got an assignment due tomorrow and I'm only halfway through it. Pray for me."

"Fuck. Hope you finish it," Annabeth mumbled. It occurred to her how tired she was as a yawn fought its way up her throat. "Bye. Love ya."

"Love you too." Piper hung up.

Annabeth plugged her phone in by the wall and rolled onto her back. She stared at the ceiling. Photos of her friends were Blu Tacked up there, along with film posters, album art and little Post-It notes that Annabeth wrote her thoughts on sometimes. Her old therapist had suggested she keep a diary, but the idea had made her want to throw up a little bit. So—Post-it notes. Orange ones, pink ones, blue ones, all arranged by colour on her ceiling. They probably made her look like a mad person. Not that she wasn't one.

Annabeth carefully started to lever herself to her feet, adjusting her cannula. When she managed to stand, the world tilted on its axis. Fucking iron deficiency. Fucking lack of oxygen getting around her body.

Picking up a book, Annabeth went to sit by the window. She flipped it open, but the words didn't interest her tonight. Instead, she just stared out the double-paned glass, watching the spitting rain outside. No stars—there never were in Seattle. Too much light pollution. Still, she supposed the city lights themselves were pretty enough. They glowed yellow in the hazy night, and Annabeth could almost imagine that they too were hundreds of lightyears away.

The grey, flat hospital roof curled around ahead of Annabeth's window. Annabeth noticed a figure standing at the edge of it. They were standing by the flat iron railing, hands braced on it. They gazed out over Seattle, just like Annabeth was. Dimly, Annabeth realised who it was by the person's rumpled black hair. Jackson. She still hadn't spoken to him.

To Annabeth's horror, Jackson hooked one leg over the railing, then the other—with some difficulty, obviously. None of the CFers were particularly nimble. What the hell was he doing? Annabeth watched, mouth agape, as Jackson manoeuvred himself into a sitting position on the thin railing. He could fall. Maybe that was what he wanted.

Without hesitation, Annabeth threw on her coat and stepped into her boots, lacing them up. She didn't think Jackson was suicidal, but him being out there was messing with her head.

Annabeth hurried through the dark hospital, heading for the stairs that went up to the roof. Before long, sweat gathered on her forehead and her lungs were pretty much on fire. Mucus felt heavy in her throat and breathing was next to impossible, even with her cannula.

Still, she kept going. The stairs were the worst. Annabeth took them slowly, plastic-gloved hands hauling her pathetic body up by the wooden banister. As she climbed, Annabeth resisted the ugly compulsion to go back down and do them again, but correctly this time. The world wasn't going to implode if she just walked up a flight of stairs like a sane goddamn person, she told herself fervently. Now wasn't the time for her insane side to seize control. Keep going. Keep going.

Annabeth broke into the cold night air with a shuddering gasp, doubling over to grab her knees for stability. She was going to kill Jackson for this, if she didn't pass out before reaching him.

The fucker in question hadn't moved. He was still sitting on the railing, legs dangling precariously. For some reason, he was wearing a weird-ass brown trench coat that made him look somewhat like the Fourth Doctor. "What the fuck are you doing out here?" Annabeth attempted to yell, but by now she was so worn out that it came out as a feeble croak.

By some miracle, Jackson heard her. "Sitting on this very high-up railing and considering death," he said. "Isn't it obvious?" He tossed a glance over his shoulder at Annabeth which made his too-long, rain-drenched bangs flop over his face. Irritably, he blew them out of his eyes as he turned back around.

Annabeth ground her teeth. "You can't just say that. Come down from there, you're scaring me."

"Is that so?" Jackson laughed. The sound was hoarse and laboured, which wasn't a surprise. "Now, we wouldn't want that."

Folding her arms over her chest, Annabeth blew out a breath. It was freezing. "You're an idiot, Jackson. Get down. You'll fall."

"Oh. You know my name." He grinned sharply. "Have you been asking about me, princess?"

"No, you ass. I saw your little temper tantrum with Nurse Elody on your first day here, actually."

"Not the best first impression, I'll admit." Jackson turned around on the railing to face her, throwing his legs over the other side. A horrible, sudden vision of him falling to his death branded itself on Annabeth's mind, but he stayed upright. "Could you possibly look past it?"

Annabeth could see his face now. In the darkness, his face looked skeletal, his eye sockets deep pools of pitch. "What, that you're an entitled rich prick who doesn't give two shits about his trial?"

"Don't know what you're complaining about. I'm not endangering _your_ life." He gestured between them, and Annabeth caught a glimpse of a pair of burnished rings on his fingers. "Look. Six feet between us, at least. No chance of you catching my bacteria, if that's what you're worried about."

"B. cepacia? Strangely, I actually do want to stay on the transplant list."

Jackson grinned, teeth a clash of white in the blackness. "Yeah, yeah. But you can contract new bacteria any time, right? Take me—I'm a prime example. Last year I was at the top of the list, but then this fucking B. cepacia colonised faster than I could say _oh, shit._ " He leaned further forward on the railing, swinging his legs. "Besides, new lungs only last five years," he mused. "Then you're back to square one."

Annabeth's vision went red. What made him think he could say shit like that to her? "Stop reminding me that I'm dying. It's hopeless to hope, I get it. Thanks."

He raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry. I forget not everyone here's come to terms with their inevitable death yet."

Annabeth raised a brow. "And you have?"

"Sure," Jackson answered. "Quite like the sound of it, to be honest. The big sleep. Lights out. Done and fucking dusted."

"You're a maniac."

"Never said I wasn't, sweetheart."

Annabeth went silent for a moment. Her gaze floated past Jackson to where the city lights glittered on the horizon. Quietly, she said, "I do hope there's something after this, though."

He let out a vicious laugh. "What, some shit like an afterlife? Don't be delusional."

Annabeth refused to react. She was slowly realising that there was no point convincing Jackson not to be an asshole. "It's not delusional. Lots of philosophers think we can only understand death by comparing it with birth, and as we don't know where our souls come from there's no sense in condemning the possibility that we could return there after we die."

"That's if you believe in souls."

Annabeth tightened her coat around her in an attempt to fight off the chill. "You don't believe in souls? How would you explain soulmates, then?"

Jackson shrugged. "A dumb practical joke from God. Or Satan, more likely."

"Didn't peg you as the religious type."

"I'm not." Without warning, Jackson rose into a crouch on the railing, smile lethal as his disease. He jumped. Annabeth screamed—before he landed haphazardly on the roof before her.

Annabeth stumbled back. "What the fuck. What the fuck. That was so fucked up." Jackson laughed, shoving his ringed hands deep into his pockets as he walked a fair distance around her. Six feet, Annabeth thought bitterly. "So you've decided _not_ to kill yourself today, then?" she snapped.

As Jackson walked away, he yelled back, "It's Percy. And no need to worry. Life just got a little more interesting."

Annabeth wanted to strangle him.

* * *

A few more days passed without her seeing Percy. Those days were characterised only by phone calls from Piper and Jason, a FaceTime with her dad and a particularly rough morning of coughing up mucus. Annabeth also got stuck in a loop of restarting every song that came on her Spotify eight times because her head kept telling her _the floor will fall in if you don't_ and hell, who was she to argue?

Eventually, Leo came in and dragged her away, muttering, "Goddamn it, if I have to hear you play this song one more time I will not be responsible for my actions." Still, Annabeth knew that hadn't been the real reason he'd come and gotten her. She was secretly grateful.

When she next encountered Percy, he was outside his dorm. She was walking by and saw him standing in the doorway, laughing. Two of his visiting friends were sitting on his bed. She recognised one of them as Thalia, Jason's sister, but the other she'd never met before. Thalia had her arm around the girl and was saying to Percy, "Now give me some fucking alone time with Reyna. We'll see you in twenty minutes."

Percy closed the door, yelling, "Use protection!" He was still smiling, but stopped when he saw Annabeth staring at him. "What?" he accused.

"I can't believe you're lending out your room to your friends so they can have sex in it. Do you realise the kind of germs they could leave in there?"

"Loosen up," Percy replied. "They won't have sex—probably. It's not like I ever clean my dorm, anyway."

Annabeth folded her arms. "I saw. And your med cart was a mess."

A shrug. "Don't feel like following the regimen."

Now that—that didn't quite compute in Annabeth's head. She stuttered out, "You don't...you don't follow your regimen?"

A smile tugged at Percy's mouth. Annabeth would've loved to introduce her fist to his gaunt, sick face. "I used to, but the side effects messed up my sleep schedule."

Compulsive thoughts tore at Annabeth's mind. It felt like Percy was tearing a hole in her projection of how things needed to be. Annabeth chewed on her lip, which was already red and raw. "I know you don't give a shit whether you live or die," she spat, "but I know your friends in there do. There's no need to be so—so _flippant_ with your existence _._ "

At that, Percy let out a disbelieving laugh. "And when exactly did you start caring about my existence, again? I don't think I got the memo."

Annabeth threw up her hands. "There's no getting through to you, is there?" She turned and walked away, trying to shut out the images of Percy's disrupted med cart and the million different varieties of harmful bacteria that were probably festering away in the room he never cleaned.

To her surprise, Percy called out. "Wait, Annabeth—" She could hear him walking behind her. She tried not to think about the way her name sounded on his tongue.

Annabeth stormed away, body protesting at the exertion. She pushed open the door to the audiology department and ground to a stop in a corridor, lungs heaving. God, having a functional body must be nice.

Percy pushed through the door behind her. She could hear him panting from here. He stopped to catch his breath, and neither of them spoke for a moment while they recovered. Finally, Percy managed to get some words out. "Why does it mess with you so much to know I'm not doing things the way you want me to? We're not friends. You have no reason to be invested in me."

Annabeth sighed, though it was mainly because she was still out of breath. "I can't rationalise it. It just...messes with my head."

Percy spoke slowly, like he was afraid she was going to turn and sprint. "How can I help?"

Those words were so incongruent with Percy Jackson that Annabeth just blinked. "What?"

"How can I help? How can I make you stop feeling like this?" Percy looked so sincere, though Annabeth still thought he might be orchestrating some fucked-up practical joke.

"Really? You really want to cooperate?"

Percy snorted. "You make it sound like I'm being arrested."

Annabeth wished he was. "It's just—Percy, the meds they give us aren't optional!"

Percy stared at her for a moment. "Yeah, that's probably why Barb shoves more down my throat whenever she catches me flushing a fresh batch down the toilet."

Annabeth flexed her hands, feeling her wrists click. She did it again, feet uncertain why they were still standing. "God," she muttered. "God, you're making me crazy."

"Then tell me how to help!" Percy didn't quite shout it, but his voice was firm. "I don't know how to be consistent with this shit. After last year, after getting B. cepacia, it's hard to care anymore."

Annabeth tried to piece together her thoughts, tried to form some sort of empathy. But the only emotion she could process was the overwhelming compulsion to get him to _stop being like this._ Fighting her raging pride, she closed her eyes and gritted out, "Let me organise your med cart. Let me set up your regimen. Let me put everything in order. Please." The last word was quiet and half-baked, but at least it existed.

Annabeth expected Percy to laugh at her, or poke fun, but instead all he said was, "Okay. But this has to be a mutually beneficial deal."

Warily, Annabeth eyed him. "You mean—"

Reading her mind, Percy laughed and shook his head rapidly. A blush rose to the tips of his ears. "No, no. I don't mean like that. I mean, um. Can I draw you?"

Annabeth wasn't sure she heard him right. But Percy was looking at her so expectantly, and bloody _fucking_ hell now she was way too aware of the frizzy state of her hair and her washed-out skin and the way she oh-so-attractively coughed up oceans of mucus every day. "Oh, no way," she decided. "I don't want you immortalising my gross, disgusting image. No thanks."

"I don't think you're gross or disgusting."

"Well, I am! And why the hell do you want to draw me anyway?"

Percy fiddled with his cannula tube. "I like drawing interesting things."

And wow, Annabeth was not in the mood to unpack _that._ "No. Think of something else. Do you want my dessert for a week?"

"Sorry, this is my ultimatum. Otherwise I'm not letting you micromanage my life, which, by the way _,_ is way more irritating than just sitting down to be drawn."

Annabeth dropped her head into her hands. "You're a twat."

Grinning, Percy turned to head away. "It's a deal, then. Shake on it?"

"Very funny."

"See you later! You can sort my shit out today." He walked off, leaving Annabeth reeling.

* * *

Percy was true to his word. When Annabeth showed up later that day with a colourful clipboard detailing a revised version of Percy's regimen, Percy let her pin it on his wall without any complaints. When Annabeth practically turned his med cart upside down and then reassembled it, Percy let her straighten all the medication boxes on it three times over exactly in the way she needed it to be. In fact, the only issue he had with Annabeth's whole setup was, upon scrutiny of his regimen, the amount of exercise he now had to do.

"Cardio every day?" he'd moaned. "How do you _do_ that? Sounds like torture."

Annabeth had only given him a look and eyed Percy's ever-so-slightly emaciated body. "You look like a walking corpse, Jackson. The exercise routine stays."

After that, Annabeth felt a lot better. Everything was in its place again. The breath returned to Annabeth's lungs—figuratively speaking. Leo had even returned from his stint in urgent care after a bronchitis scare, and the two of them could hang out again. At a distance of six feet, of course.

Annabeth was sitting in the café with him, debating Leo's arguably superficial relationship with Michael. "He wanted to meet you here? At the hospital?" Annabeth slurped her smoothie. "You should've agreed. I think he should get to see your life here. It's important."

Leo was bouncing his knee, making their whole table vibrate. Annabeth didn't bother to ask him to stop. "I know, alright? I just don't want him to see this sordid, ugly side of me. He'll get scared away."

"No, he won't. From what you've told me, he doesn't seem like the kind of person who'd cut and run at the first sign of hardship. You said he looks after his crippled mum—I doubt you being a CFer is ever gonna faze him."

Leo didn't meet her eyes. "It's not really that," he mumbled. "I'm just worried I'll get too attached to him. I'm turning eighteen in a few months, meaning there'll be no more state funding. Whoever looks after me has to fund my healthcare. Who am I gonna put that on? It's my illness. It's my problem."

Annabeth really, really wished Leo wasn't a CFer so she could hug him. "Leo, you're not a weight for Michael to carry. You're a person."

He wound his cannula around his thumb, giving Annabeth an uncertain smile. "Thanks, Beth. That means a lot."

* * *

When Annabeth was walking back to her room, she passed Percy's open door. She glanced inside. He was sitting on his bed, legs tucked under him. His sketchpad was open on his knees and his fingers were black with charcoal where he was rubbing a stick of it against the paper. Annabeth's thoughts started racing. "Jackson?" she called. "Why aren't you wearing your percussion vest? It's literally past five and I haven't seen you use it today."

Percy glanced up at her. "It hurts my chest. Why _would_ I use it?"

"Because—I don't know—it gets all the fucking mucus out of your airways, maybe?" Percy just went back to drawing, electing to ignore her. Annabeth chewed on her lip. The metallic tang of blood sparked on her tongue. "That settles it. You can't be trusted, so we're doing our regimen together from now on. I'll change mine to fit yours."

Percy looked up again, brow quirking. "In case you didn't realise, blondie, I've got a colony of B. cepacia floating around in me. If you're hoping for new lungs, we shouldn't hang out all the time."

"I meant over FaceTime, you idiot. So I can be sure you're actually following your regimen."

Percy grinned lopsidedly. "Always looking for excuses to spend time with me, huh?"

Annabeth stormed out, but she wasn't that pissed.

* * *

Every day, Annabeth called Percy over FaceTime whenever they had to sit in their vests or take pills. Annabeth grew used to the sight of Percy's face on her shitty laptop screen. Though she wouldn't admit it to herself, she actually liked listening to his dumb jokes and hearing his improbable stories of things that had happened to him and his friends. And Percy didn't seem to mind her company, either. With each of their calls, a pale kind of hope seemed to slowly ignite in his eyes. He seemed different to when Annabeth had first spoken to him, up on that rooftop. Happier.

Three times a week, Annabeth made Percy come and exercise with her. Mostly because it was a part of his regimen, but also because working out with dysfunctional lungs was something of a hell on Earth and having company made it more enjoyable. Percy tended to resist when she asked him to come with her to the small hospital gym, but it would only ever take a few well-placed verbal jabs at his skinny legs or non-existent biceps and he'd give in.

Annabeth was on the cross-fit, struggling to keep going even with the machine set on the lowest resistance possible. Percy walked on a treadmill a few metres away from her, leaning heavily on the support. His skin gleamed with sweat and his jaw was clenched with the exertion. "This is fucking torture," he gasped out. "Remind me why we have to do this, again?"

"We barely ever move around," Annabeth replied, breathless. "Exercise keeps our muscles from atrophying." Percy slumped his head forward, dragging his feet as let out a groan. Without looking up, he flipped Annabeth his middle finger. Annabeth rolled her eyes. "You're a delight."

"Oh, I know I am. Why else would you hang out with me all the time?" Annabeth ignored that comment, choosing to turn her crossfit down a notch instead of answering. She could feel Percy's resting gaze burning a hole in her back. He was silent for a moment. "I've been wondering. When will this little arrangement become mutually beneficial?"

Annabeth huffed a laugh. "It's already beneficial to you. You're taking your medication so you actually have a chance at life and shit."

"You know that's not what I mean. When are you gonna let me draw you?"

"I still can't believe I agreed to that." Annabeth tried not to think about the burn in her muscles and lungs as she stepped off the machine, checking her watch.

Percy turned off his treadmill and stumbled off it. "Thank God that's over," he groused. "So? You feel like doing it now?"

Annabeth stared at him in incredulity. "You're joking."

"Why would I be joking?"

Annabeth cocked a brow and gestured at herself. "Look at me—my face is red and I'm sweating all over. Somehow, I'd rather you not use me as a muse while I'm in this state."

Percy dragged a hand through his hair, eyes gleaming with humour. "Why not? You look fine."

"You're lying."

"I'm not. C'mon, please?"

Annabeth tried to stare him down, but it didn't take long for her to crumble. "Jerk."

Percy pumped his fist. "Nice. I wondered when I'd get you to break."

Annabeth ground her teeth. "We're getting food first."

"Oh, of course. How could I resist the hospital's patented sludgy chocolate mousse?"

Annabeth didn't reply, only pushed past Percy. He scrambled to follow her.

An hour later, they'd finished eating and were leaving the café, bantering back and forth. Annabeth still wished she could shower before letting Percy draw her, but he wasn't having it. "Nope, I've already got my sketch pad in my bag. Plus, the lighting's good right now. It's still noon."

"Why does lighting matter? You're not taking a photo."

Percy just looked back at her and grinned. "It's all part of the vision, Annie." He walked ahead, leading Annabeth to wherever he deemed a good spot. Eventually, they arrived at a large, arching window on one of the hospital's higher floors. Percy pulled up two of the waiting chairs and positioned them so Annabeth's back would be to the window and he could face her—with six feet between them, of course. "There. Sit down." Annabeth tried not to be grouchy at his commanding tone and sat down in her chair, feeling awkward. She reached up to fix her hair, but Percy waved his hand. "No, leave it."

"What, you're going to intentionally make me look bad?"

Percy shrugged. "No, I just want the drawing to be real."

Annabeth decided not to question him. "Fine, let's get this over with."

"Try to enjoy it, Beth. It's not every day you become an artist's muse."

"I told you, don't call me Beth!"

He pouted. "But I like it."

Annabeth groaned. "Just get on with the goddamn drawing." Percy laughed, sitting down in his chair. He pulled his sketchpad out of his bag along with a plastic box. As he opened it, Annabeth realised it contained several sticks of charcoal. "Where'd you learn to draw?" Annabeth asked, then instantly wished she could stuff the words back in her mouth.

Percy crossed his legs, resting his pad on his knees. The position made him appear small, fragile, but Annabeth knew Percy was anything but. "Taught myself. When I had to drop out of school a few years ago because of my CF, I suddenly had a lot of free time. And, you know, I always liked art. I started it just as a fun hobby, but then I started actually working hard to improve. I wanted to be distracted."

Annabeth nodded slowly. "And did it help? With distracting you?"

Percy smirked. "You tell me."

"God, you can fuck right off," Annabeth muttered.

Percy let out a hoarse laugh. "Quit moving your face. You're ruining my reference."

Annabeth heaved a sigh but did as he asked, tilting her head a little to the left as it had been before. "Will you let me see the picture after?"

"Nope."

Annabeth raised her brows. "Alright, then."

Silence hung heavy between them for a few moments, punctuated only by the incessant scritch-scratch of Percy's charcoal on paper. Eventually, Percy spoke. "So, I have to say I'm intrigued." His eyes never lifted from his sketchpad.

"About what?"

"About you. What you want."

Annabeth wasn't sure what to say to that. "Uh, to survive CF until I get new lungs?"

Percy rolled his eyes. "Obviously. We all do. I mean, what would you want out of life if you didn't have CF? If you could walk out of this place and never once look back."

To her discomfort, Annabeth realised she hadn't really thought about it. "I don't know. I mostly just want to stay alive as long as I can so my dad won't be alone."

"Would he have to be? If you bit the dust?"

"Yeah. I mean, my mom died a couple years back. Car crash." Annabeth shook her head. "I guess we'd always planned for _me_ to die, you know? I was the sick one, not my mom. We didn't anticipate her death." Annabeth's throat went tight for a moment. It felt weird to be admitting crap like this to Percy, of all people. Maybe his blatant disregard for everyone except for himself lessened the pressure, in a way. "Anyway. It'd just be kinda shitty for my dad if I died too."

To Annabeth's surprise, Percy laughed. He actually fucking laughed. "That's ridiculous. You're living your life for your dad, not yourself. Just 'cause your mom's gone doesn't mean you have to give up everything you enjoy just to focus on getting better." Percy leaned back in his chair, adjusting his sketch pad on his knees. "You're a sick girl with survivor's guilt."

Annabeth stared at him in furious disbelief. "Well, that was about as delicate as a jackhammer."

"We're dying. There's no time to be delicate."

Annabeth wanted to storm off, but squashed down her anger. She chewed on her ragged lip. "Just finish up already so I can get the hell away from you."

Percy sighed. "I'm sorry, okay? I only meant that you should do shit you enjoy with your limited time, rather than keep devoting every scrap of energy you have to your damn regimen just for a better chance at survival."

Annabeth didn't want her anger to dissipate, but it did. Percy had a point. She shook her head. "You're right, even though you're a massive jerk."

A smile tugged at Percy's mouth. "That I am, Beth. That I am."

Annabeth closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the sound of Percy's charcoal scratching away. "To answer your earlier question, I like reading classics," Annabeth mused. "Jane Austen, Virginia Woolf. And poetry, sometimes. If I didn't have CF, I think I'd probably want to write my own crappy ideas down. Make a book out of them."

"Oh, you'd go down in history. Become the next William Shakespeare or some shit."

A laugh bubbled out of Annabeth's rasping lungs. "Yeah, right."

Percy's lips quirked. "Even if you didn't, _I'd_ still wanna read about your crappy ideas."

For some reason, Annabeth felt touched—despite Percy's mocking tone. "Thank you," Annabeth smiled. "What about you? What would be on your bucket list?"

Percy pretended to think hard. "Hmm, I wonder. Painting class with Bob Ross? Sex in the Vatican?"

Annabeth choked on another laugh. "Bob Ross is dead, unfortunately. And I think you'd have to find someone to help out with the second one."

"Wouldn't you?" Percy glanced up from his sketch pad, a spark of humour in his jade eyes.

Annabeth scoffed. "You're vile."

He laughed. "Guilty as charged. But seriously, though. I think I'd like to travel the world. Actually get to see some of it, not just the bleak insides of hospitals." Percy put his charcoal down to smudge areas of his drawing with a fingertip, brow furrowed in concentration.

Annabeth carefully appraised him, gaze soft. "Do you think you'll ever get to?"

Percy grinned sharply. "Oh, definitely. I'm gonna be eighteen in a couple months, and then my dad can't stop me from checking out of this place. I'm gonna travel for as long as I can stand on my own two feet. Screw the consequences."

The passion in Percy's voice struck a chord in Annabeth. "Thanks," she said.

"For what?"

Annabeth leaned her head to the side with a smile, resting it on the window beside her. "For saying something real."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yep, I'm back on my bullshit with a brand new fic! the second chapter will be up this wednesay (sep 23) and the final chapter will be up on saturday (sep 26). I love hearing your thoughts so don't hesitate to drop a comment!
> 
> disclaimer: I don't have cystic fibrosis—though I did a lot of research, there are bound to be inaccuracies. suspend your disbelief, but please correct me if there's something major I've gotten wrong.
> 
> title is from the song Anchor by Novo Amor.


	2. this feathered fervour / lady lazarus

PERCY

Annabeth Chase was a fucking enigma. When Percy first saw her up on the hospital roof, he'd wondered if she was some sort of angel sent from the heavens to stop him from jumping—and really, he hadn't been going to. But then he'd noticed her cannula, her rasping voice and her hollow cheeks. And as that wasn't how angels were generally supposed to appear, Percy figured she was just a patient who'd seen him, jumped to conclusions about his mental health and came up to check on him. Fantastic.

But after he'd met Annabeth that first time, he couldn't stop noticing her. His fingers itched to render her image in his sketchbook, to immortalise Annabeth in charcoal along with every other interesting thing. Yeah, so what if that made him weird? Annabeth was weird too, with her strange compulsions and mannerisms and even her blatant concern about Percy's refusal to follow his oh-so-important Cevaflomin trial. Despite the fact that Annabeth's desire to help him was rooted in her own craziness rather than altruism, Percy couldn't help but like her.

They'd been spending a lot of time together in the name of making sure Percy stuck to his regimen—over FaceTime, in person, over text. Percy realised his dry personality brought out a sarcastic, funny side to Annabeth that she rarely showed. He still couldn't really say that they were conventionally friendly to each other, but somehow their morbid humour and stupid jokes made up for it. For the first time in a while, life was giving something back to Percy instead of just taking away. The drawings in his sketchbook became more light-hearted and less dark and gloomy like they'd been before, though they were still pretty dark.

In fact, the only drawing Percy liked was the one he'd drawn of Annabeth. With golden light from the window illuminating her wry features and her hair a mess from exercising, she looked somehow more real than anything else he'd drawn.

Percy was sitting in his messy room, that same sketchbook open in his lap. His fingers were blackened by charcoal and his legs were crossed beneath him, the way he usually liked to sit when he drew. He'd just ended a phone call with Annabeth, who'd been checking to make sure he'd taken his noon medication. The remnants of a smile were still on his face.

Beside him, Nurse Barbara was tidying away his lunch tray. Percy looked up to see her grinning at him like she goddamn knew something. "What?" he demanded.

Barbara laughed. "Nothing, nothing. Just...it's good to see you like this."

"Like how?"

"I don't know. Hopeful."

Percy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He shifted in his chair, propping his feet up on the table just to see Barb's chiding look. "Isn't that what you lot are always telling us? To fucking have hope?"

"Yes, Percy." She drew a notepad and pen out from under her arm. "It's nice someone's finally getting through to you, even if it is another CFer. I suppose I don't have to reiterate the risks to you?"

"Yeah, I know. Six feet apart at all times. I—" Percy looked up at Barb, words dying in his mouth. His eyes had fallen on her elbow where a deep blue soulmark shimmered. It was rare to see one, and Percy couldn't stifle his curiosity. "Cool mark." He gestured at her arm with a stick of charcoal.

Barb glanced down at the mark. "Oh, yeah." A soft smile tugged at her lips. "She's my wife. I met her two years back. A little annoying, meeting my soulmate at fifty-three, but I guess I'm lucky. After all, some people never find theirs."

Percy tore his eyes away from the mark. Soulmates were a weird thing to think about. His dad had been his mom's soulmate, but what the hell did that matter? It hadn't stopped the asshole from divorcing her.

To be honest, Percy had never figured a soulmate was in the cards for himself. Who would want a sad, sick teenager with incredibly limited time left? No one with any sense. In fact, Percy hoped he _didn't_ have one. They'd just be another complication in his messy life, and what did he have to offer them, anyway? Absolutely fuck-all.

Barbara was watching him. "You know, Percy," she started. "I have faith in this Cevaflomin trial. The doctors seem particularly positive about it. They've done a lot of pre-clinical testing and it's very exciting that they've decided to push the drug forward."

Percy stared blankly at his drawing. It was a simple rendition of the city lights from outside his window. The shading wasn't quite right, but hopefully when he went in with chalk it'd look okay. When Barb mentioned his trial, though, his concentration dissolved. Percy knew Cevaflomin was a long shot, but it was the only shot he had. "What if it doesn't work?" he asked, then immediately wished he could bite the words back into his mouth.

Barbara didn't look sympathetic, but her voice was kind. Matter-of-factly, she replied, "What if it does?"

* * *

After lunch, Percy tucked the book Annabeth had lent him into his jacket and left to find somewhere quiet to read. It was a poetry book. When Annabeth had first asked if she could lend him something to read to help fill his time, he'd wrinkled his nose. Who had the patience to make it through four-hundred fucking pages? So Annabeth had given him _Ariel_ by Sylvia Plath and said maybe poems would be easier. They were shorter, Percy supposed, but he still didn't really get what was so special about them.

But Percy was bored, and Annabeth was interesting, so he figured she probably had interesting taste. He found a spare chair in the café and dragged it off to a corner. Sitting down, he flipped the book open to the poem he was on— _The Applicant_ —and began to read, grating the jagged nail of his index finger between his teeth. He'd only made it a few lines down, squinting fervently at the shifting letters, before he was interrupted.

"Would you fucking look at that? Annabeth's corrupted another one." Percy jerked his head up. Leo, another CFer, was standing in front of him. His curly hair was shaggy, like he hadn't washed it in a while, and his cannula tubes dangled loose around his neck. A keen grin was on his face. "I mean, I'm not surprised. She had me reading goddamn Mary Shelley just a few weeks after I met her."

Percy fumbled to reply through his initial shock. "Oh, hey. You're Annabeth's friend, right? I see you with her all the time."

Leo nodded and pulled up a chair, turning it around so his stomach was against the backrest. Percy noticed his shoelaces were undone. "Yep. And you're her newest insanity case."

Percy supposed that was fair. "I guess. She's been beating my life into submission with a stick."

Leo laughed. "Sounds like Annabeth. I know she's a little psychotic, but don't mind that. She's the best person I know."

"Oh, really?" Percy gave Leo a look.

"Not like that, you twat. I've known her for ages. Plus, I don't swing that way."

"I'm messing with you, dude." Percy raised a brow. "How did you get to know her, anyway?"

"We met in the ward last year, when Annabeth first arrived here." He started fidgeting with his cannula tube, wrapping and unwrapping it around his finger. The guy had even more nervous energy than Percy did, which was bloody saying something. "We've got the same awful sense of humour so we became friends fast. She lets me vent to her about my boy problems and shit." Leo gave him a look. "Don't worry, though. I'm not into scrawny guys."

A dry laugh surged up Percy's throat. "I'm fucking offended," he replied, smiling.

Leo and him chatted for a while. They talked about anything and everything ranging from the recent _Star Trek_ series to why only one kind of music taste was socially acceptable. It was refreshing to talk to someone other than Annabeth or the nurses whose kindness ranged from sickly to disdainful, and Percy went back to his dorm feeling better than he had before.

For the first time in a while, Percy had the motivation to put on his percussion vest without any prompting. He flopped back on his bed, holding his phone above his face to FaceTime Annabeth. Feeling the vest vibrate, he imagined the mucus in his lungs breaking up and melting away. _Yeah, fuck off. You're not welcome here,_ he thought, a little deliriously.

His phone rang through only a couple times before Annabeth picked up. Her freckled face appeared on the screen. "Hey," she greeted him. "Oh, you're in your vest! I didn't even have to ask you this time."

"Yeah, well. Don't get used to it." Something in Percy lifted, and he drank in the sight of her familiar ash-grey eyes and cynical smile. "What are you up to?"

"Oh, you know," Annabeth flashed a brown, leather-bound journal. "Trying to become the next William Shakespeare."

"You're writing? Nice, you're following my advice." Genuine excitement flickered in Percy. "I'm glad you're letting yourself have something for once."

"Well, it's all complete crap. I haven't written anything in years."

"Just 'cause it's crap doesn't mean it's bad."

Annabeth blinked. "Uh, I'm pretty sure it does. Those two words kinda go hand in hand."

Percy tucked his pillow under his head, getting comfortable. "Whatever. You're still gonna have to credit me in the front of your books." He cleared his throat. " _For Percy Jackson; his hotness brought me boundless inspiration_."

Annabeth laughed, and Percy sort of wished he could put the sound in a bottle. "Shut up." Then she narrowed her eyes. "Hang on, you're being nice. Why the fuck are you being nice? I thought your whole aesthetic was acting like an edge-lord."

Percy shrugged. Honestly, he'd wondered the same thing. "I dunno. Probably just been sleeping well." There was a pause where Annabeth just looked at him, wary. Like she was suspicious or something. Percy laughed. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," Annabeth said. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

Annabeth shook her head. "Don't worry. Have you started that Sylvia Plath book yet?"

"Yeah, I'm on, uh..." Percy reached for the book where it lay beside him on his mattress and flipped it open. " _Lady Lazarus._ "

"Oh, I love that one! How are you finding the poems?"

"They're alright. I like some more than others." Percy rubbed the back of his neck. "Not sure if I fully get what any of them mean, though."

Annabeth smiled. "That's okay. I don't always understand them, either. Guess that's why I like poetry."

"What? Not understanding it?"

"Well, yeah. But mostly the way it flows differently to stories, that the poet's message can sometimes be really ambiguous."

Percy groaned. "There you go again with your fucking SAT words. Christ, not all of us made it through high school."

"Hey, I had to do it online too! It's not my fault you've never finished a book in your life." Annabeth's tone was mocking. Percy stuck his tongue out at her. She let out a derisive scoff. "Oh, real mature." But then she laughed again, and Percy really, really didn't want her to stop.

They talked for hours, late into the evening and then late into the night. When Percy finally ended the call and fell asleep, he did so with hope unfolding in his battered lungs.

The next day, Percy woke up feeling shitty. And yeah, he always felt shitty, but this morning was worse than usual. It was difficult to breathe. After a couple minutes of lying on his back and struggling to drag air into his lungs, he pressed the nurse call button so Barb could come and help him cough up what felt like eight gallons of sticky, disgusting mucus into a white bowl.

When he was done, his throat felt like it'd been scraped raw. Percy's good mood from the previous day completely dissipated. He felt guilty for daring to think, to _hope_ that maybe things would've kept going well. Why did he always have to fall back to square one?

_Fantastic,_ Percy thought. Depression had lessened its chokehold for a nice few fucking minutes there. His life had never felt more like a practical joke.

After Barb's visit, he stumbled back into bed and pulled the covers over his head, blocking out the outside world. After a couple moments, though, he started feeling oxygen-deprived and forced himself to sit up, careful not to overwork his feeble lungs. He reached for his phone to check the time—it was past noon. He could go get his lunch, but he wasn't sure he had the mental capacity to leave his dorm. He was meant to take his medication in half an hour, but the regimen hanging on his wall just felt like too much to bear on this particular day. Even though it was theoretically supposed to help, sometimes it felt like just another set of restraints.

It wasn't until after a few more rounds of sitting in the percussion vest and coughing up mucus with Barb's soothing hand on his back that Percy finally mustered the will to leave his dorm. He headed towards the café, ignoring his woozy headache.

Before he got there, though, he heard someone calling after him. It was Nurse Ashley. "Oh, Percy! I just went to your dorm to look for you. You've got a visitor."

A visitor? It couldn't be Percy's mom—she was down in San Francisco for a book tour and wouldn't have any time to visit until June. And he knew most of his other friends were either away for spring break or with their families. "Who is it?" he asked.

"Your dad."

That was a shock. "Can't you just tell him to leave?"

Ashley raised a brow. "He deserves to see you, Percy. He's paying for all your treatments, for God's sake. And you turned him away the last three times he tried to visit."

"Guess it's about to become four times." Percy tried to turn and walk away, but Ashley's hand latched onto his shoulder. He spun, glaring at her. "What?"

Ashley shot him a stern look. "It won't be for long. And I already told him you agreed."

Percy gaped at her. "You didn't." When Ashley didn't respond, he groaned. "Fine. But I reserve the right to make him fuck off if he acts like a dickbag."

Ashley nodded, smiling. "Sure. But he won't."

Reluctantly, Percy followed Ashley to the lunch hall. His dad was sitting at one of the tables, fingers interlaced in front of him. Two untouched cups of coffee sat on the table. The one furthest from Poseidon was a mocha—Percy's favourite. He had the sudden urge to lash out and sweep both coffees all over his dad's sleek, expensive suit.

Poseidon's face split into a grin as Percy approached. "Oh, Percy! I wasn't sure if I'd get to see you," he said, motioning for him to sit down.

Percy tried for a smile, but it came out as a grimace. Feeling awkward, he took the seat opposite his dad. "Well, here I am."

Poseidon's smile faltered. "How are you? You look a little worse for wear."

Percy fidgeted with his sleeve. "Had a bad morning," he muttered. "Brought up a sewer's worth of mucus."

"Ah." Poseidon looked unsure what to say. "Well, I got you a coffee."

"I can see that." The silence that followed was heavy, weighed down by a thousand unsaid things. "How's mom?" Percy said at last.

Poseidon perked up. "She's good. We haven't called much as she's been touring her new book, but she sends her love."

"Right." Percy didn't bother asking when she was next coming to visit. Not that he blamed her—his mom's life was hectic.

Poseidon took a sip of his coffee. "How's this new trial coming along? Have they seen any results yet?"

Percy shrugged. "It's too early on for results, but I doubt it's gonna be magical. I feel crappy as ever, if that's what you're asking."

"Well, the doctors seemed excited about this one. What's it called again? Cevaflomin?"

Percy nodded, drumming his fingers on the side of his coffee. It was already going cold. "It's probably not gonna do anything. None of the trials ever have."

Poseidon fixed him with a chiding look. "Honestly, Percy. Be more optimistic. You have to try and get better."

He barked out a laugh. "I _have_ been trying. For years."

"I know that—"

"You clearly don't."

Poseidon let out a sigh. "Well, if Cevaflomin is unsuccessful, I'll get in contact with some more researchers. There's talk of another trial in the works, something more exclusive. I think I can get you in on it."

Percy balled the fabric of his sleeve into a fist, glaring daggers at Poseidon. "Fuck that. I'm not going through one more pointless, expensive trial that does nothing but make me nauseous. I want to make the most of the time I have left." He lowered his gaze, mumbling, "B. cepacia is a death sentence for CFers and everyone knows it. They just don't wanna say."

Poseidon looked sympathetic. He reached out to rest his hand on Percy's arm comfortingly, then faltered when Percy jerked away. "I know all this seems like a lot. But, Percy..." A look of hopelessness settled over him. "I don't want to lose you. Just the thought of it feels like I've lost everything—"

"But I _have_ lost everything, Dad! Can't you see that? Nothing changes. I sit in my room, following my regimen. I do nothing but wait for the day they get this shitty bacteria out of me so I can have new lungs, all the while knowing that day's never gonna come. I want to live—to travel, to see everything in the world as long as it isn't the inside of a hospital." Percy kicked his chair leg, scuffing the back of his sneaker. "I'm eighteen in two weeks. When my birthday arrives, I'm leaving. Screw the consequences."

Poseidon looked pained. "I can't let you do that."

"You can't stop me. As an adult, I'll be able to sign out myself."

For a few moments, Poseidon said nothing. When he finally spoke, his eyes were shut. "If you still want to leave when you turn eighteen, I'll support you. I know how difficult it must be to feel like everything is always the same, to feel stagnant in your own life. And I don't want to take whatever time you have left away from you—I'm aware it's a long shot that any of these trials will work. But, Percy..." Poseidon reached out for Percy's hand, gently tugging it onto the table. His metal rings felt cold against Percy's skin. "I have a good feeling about this trial. They say that your chances are decent, that we may start seeing results soon. Stick it out til' the end of August, okay? Just a week or two after your birthday."

Percy pulled his hand away. Shakily, he gave Poseidon a nod. "Yeah, okay."

* * *

That evening, Percy put on his compression vest and pulled out his phone to FaceTime Annabeth like they always did. This time, though, the phone just rang and rang. Percy frowned, wondering why she wasn't picking up. Annabeth never missed a call—it fucked with her head if she ever did.

Feeling uneasy, Percy sat in the vest for a while. He picked up _Ariel_ where it's lying on his mattress, flipping to his place. He was on the second-to-last poem: _Edge._ The strange words did nothing to quell his nerves, however, so he took off his percussion vest with a wheeze and laboured to his feet. Maybe he'd check up on Annabeth, just to be safe. Going on impulse, he tucked _Ariel_ into his pocket.

The hallways of their ward were deserted of visitors as it was so late. Annabeth's door was ajar. He peeked in, expecting to see Annabeth asleep or something. To his confusion, her bed was vacant.

Quickly, he hurried over to Leo's dorm. Percy knocked. A few seconds later, the door swung open. Leo looked rumpled, wearing nothing but a pair of vividly green Hulk-themed pajama bottoms. "What?" he groused, rubbing his eyes.

"Do you know where Annabeth is?"

He shrugged. "In her room?"

"Oh, shit, thanks. I never would've looked there."

Leo rolled his eyes. "No need to be rude. I'm going back to sleep. Just ask Barb if you really can't find her." With that, he closed the door. Percy groaned, whirling away from Leo's dorm.

He headed to Barb's station, anxieties running amok. He couldn't explain why he was so worried—he just _was._ Barb was sitting at her desk, scribbling something onto a notepad. "Where's Annabeth?" he demanded, slamming a hand on the table.

Barb looked up, startled. "Percy, it's late. You should be in bed."

"Where is she?" he repeated.

Barb gave him a troubled look. "She's in surgery prep right now, love. Her G-tube's been giving her trouble lately, so we had it checked out. It's infected, so we're having to replace it."

"What? But that's dangerous."

"So is an infection."

Percy scrubbed his hands down his face, letting out a ragged breath. "Can I see her?"

"Absolutely not. You're a CFer—one with B. cepacia, at that."

"I don't care, alright? She's probably scared shitless. She'll want company."

Barb's expression turned stern. "Sweetheart, it's really not safe."

"Please. I don't want her to be alone."

" _No_ , Jackson. That's my final answer. Go back to your dorm."

Realising it was futile to argue, Percy turned away. As he walked back to his room, he wondered if there was a way to get into Annabeth's surgery room for just a couple minutes. He'd most likely be stopped and sent back as soon as he walked into the surgery ward looking like a patient as he did right now, but...

He stopped in his tracks. Maybe there _was_ a way.

It took him twenty minutes of darting through corridors, checking for prying eyes as he turned corners, before he made it down to the storage closets. Thankfully, the door wasn't locked. He rifled through the closets, sifting past hanger after hanger of nurse scrubs and hospital gowns. At last he found what he needed—a surgeon's outfit, complete with a mask and visor. Hopefully, he'd be nearly unrecognisable wearing it.

He changed in the closet, then took the elevator up to the surgery ward. Most of the rooms were empty, and the occasional surgeon dressed in similar attire to him walked by. He didn't get any weird looks, which was a relief. Barb had said Annabeth was in surgery prep, so he ducked into that corridor. After glancing into about a dozen rooms with unfamiliar patients being prepped inside, Percy glimpsed a river of messy blonde hair strewn over a pillow, almost entirely obscured by a curtain. _Annabeth._ He peered inside, thankful to see she was alone.

"Annabeth," he called softly, pushing open the curtain.

At the sound of his voice, she turned her head. With her eyes at half-mast and her face relaxed, he imagined they probably had her on some sort of numbing drug. "Who's there?" Her voice was a rasp.

Percy stepped past the curtain, making sure there was still six feet between them. He pulled down his mask so she could see his face. "It's me, Percy. I came to check up on you." He paused. "You should've told me you were going into surgery."

"Didn't want to worry you. It's...it's minor. Honestly." Annabeth looked like she was trying to focus on him, but couldn't quite manage it.

Percy folded his arms. "It's not minor. But you're gonna be fine, okay?"

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"Because it's true." More than ever, Percy wished he could reach out and comfort her, hold her hand or something. "Do you know what time you go in?"

"Soon, I think. Can you stay?"

"Not for long. I wish I could, but Barb will own my arse if she catches me here."

Annabeth laughed. Percy replayed the sound in his head, letting it wash over him in a haze. "I appreciate you," she said. A few seconds passed without either of them speaking—on Annabeth's part this was due to the drugs, while Percy's head was still whirling from the memory of that laugh. "Talk to me," Annabeth said suddenly. "Say something to distract me. I'm scared."

Percy nodded. He took _Ariel_ out of his pocket and, with an uncertain voice, began to read from the first poem in the book. " _Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bold cry took its place among the elements._ _Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival..._ " As he spoke, Annabeth's eyelids fluttered shut. Her blonde lashes looked white in the fluorescent light.

When he finished the poem, Percy tucked _Ariel_ back into his pocket. "You're gonna be fine, yeah?" he told her.

She smiled, eyes still closed. "I know. I'll see you in the morning?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course." After a brief goodbye, he slipped out of her room. With a chest lighter than anything, Percy thought he might be walking on air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts :) the final chapter will be up this saturday.


	3. intersections of the self / blue light

ANNABETH

Annabeth woke up in fits and starts, thoughts moving like syrup. It took her a few moments to feel the IV embedded in her forearm, then a few more to notice the fresh G-tube that had been put in her stomach. Nurse Elody stood by her bed, holding a clipboard. "Good, you're awake. How're you feeling?"

Annabeth's mouth tasted like cotton. "Fine," she managed. "Can I sit up?"

"Sure, darling." She helped manoeuvre Annabeth into a sitting position. Her head spun with the disorientation. "Let me take your blood pressure real quick."

While Elody prepared the sleeve, Annabeth noticed a little bundle of flowers lying by her bed. Bluebells. Didn't they grow around the hospital? She smiled, picking them up. "Who left these?"

Elody gave her a knowing look. "Percy did," she told her. "He came to visit half an hour ago to see if you were awake. He left that drawing, as well." Elody handed her a sheet of paper that had been lying on her bedside. The drawing had been done in charcoal: Percy's favourite medium.

With a shock, Annabeth realised it was the drawing he'd made of her that day, when they'd had their first real conversation. Her face was slightly turned away, her expression wry. She looked a little unkempt, but the drawing was still beautiful. Annabeth looked at it for a second longer, then placed it gingerly down on her lap. Annabeth picked up her phone and shot a quick text to Percy, smiling. _You're really fucking sweet,_ she typed.

His reply came a second later. _Keep it quiet. I've got a reputation to uphold._

Annabeth responded with an easy _of course ;)_ Turning her phone off, she let her head flop back with a grin.

* * *

That week, Piper and Jason came to visit. They'd been away on a road trip, enjoying their last summer of freedom before they'd be wrestled into the chains of university. While Jason was all sunburnt on his ears and the bridge of his nose, Piper's dark skin had tanned to a deep bronze. She screamed when she saw Annabeth, running at her and engulfing her in a bone-cracking hug. "Annie!"

"Ribs," Annabeth wheezed.

Piper stepped back, still holding onto her and grinning. "I missed you so fucking much, you know? Wish you could've been with us."

Annabeth smiled. "I missed you, too."

They sat in Annabeth's dorm, playing cards. Jason was telling a story. "I swear to God, we nearly drowned," he insisted. "That jellyfish got us both. Then a couple of French tourists tried telling us to piss on each other to neutralise the stings. Like, what?"

"No way were we gonna do that," Piper cut in, putting down a six on Annabeth's four. "We'd swallowed so much seawater and looked like crap with jellyfish stings all over us, but we still had our _dignity_ —"

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. "It's open," Annabeth called.

Percy peeked his head around, looking embarrassed. "Can I join?" he asked. "Michael's just turned up to visit Leo and I'd really rather not third-wheel those two."

"Sure," Annabeth said. "Sit on the desk, that way you're still far enough away."

"Who's this?" Jason asked.

"This is Percy," Annabeth said. "He's another CFer on the ward. Percy, this is Jason and Piper. They're my friends from school."

Jason and Piper chorused, "Hey."

Percy sat down on the desk, legs crossed. With dark half-moons under his eyes, he looked a little worse for wear. "So, what're we playing?" he asked.

"Shithead," Jason replied.

Percy baulked. "Excuse me?"

Piper laughed. "The game, not you. It's called Shithead. The whole point is to avoid being the last one with cards in your hand, 'cause then you're the shithead. Look, we'll start a new game so I can deal you in."

Percy seemed to like Piper and Jason. He laughed along with them, poking fun whenever he could. They played several hands of Shithead before getting bored. Cards discarded around them, Piper laid back on Jason's chest, drawing circles around his upper-arm where a sunset-orange soulmark bloomed. Percy's eyes locked onto it. "You two soulmates, then?" he asked.

Piper nodded. She pulled off her sock, showing him the matching soulmark that stretched over her manicured toes. "Yeah. I was fucking pissed when I found out, though. Me and Annabeth thought he was a massive prick."

"How come it's on your foot?"

Jason flushed as Piper flashed him a look, cackling. "Yeah, tell him, Jason."

He rolled his eyes. "I accidentally hit her in the head with a soccer ball at a match. She was a cheerleader—a flyer."

"Then what happened?" Piper pried.

"You roundhouse-kicked me with your bare ass foot. I was bruised for a month." Jason muttered.

Percy laughed, bending in double. "Fucking hell, that's priceless."

Annabeth grinned. "Almost makes me glad I don't have a soulmate."

"Nah, I'm pretty happy with my lot," said Jason. He kissed Piper on the nose. She squealed, pushing him away, but soon succumbed to a real kiss. Percy shot Annabeth a look as if to say, _Couples, am I right?_

Piper and Jason had to leave after a while. Annabeth walked them straight up to the hospital doors. "Sorry we can't stay longer," Jason apologised. "It's a long drive back to Manhattan."

Annabeth shook her head. "No, don't worry. Thanks for coming out." She hugged him.

Piper gave Annabeth a kiss on the cheek. "Call me tomorrow, yeah? And remind me to send you our holiday photos."

Annabeth smiled. "Yeah. Have a good final few weeks of summer, alright?"

"We will," Jason promised. With a final goodbye, they left.

Annabeth headed back up to the CF ward. Leo, Michael and Percy were sitting in the foyer. Michael was lying on the coach, head in Leo's lap. Leo was fiddling absently with Michael's corkscrew-curling Afro.

Percy was explaining something, hands moving animatedly. When he saw Annabeth, his eyes lit up. "Hey, Annabeth."

"What were you talking about?" she asked, sitting down in the chair opposite the sofa, six feet away from Percy. The ache of having to stay so far away from Percy was only growing the longer she knew him.

"Percy was just explaining to me how to paint with charcoal," Michael said. "I draw as well, so."

Leo rolled his eyes. "Is there literally anything you can't do? You're like, fucking— _Apollo_ or something."

Annabeth laughed. "High-tier compliment right there."

When Annabeth climbed into bed that night, she got to thinking. Percy's birthday was coming up, and she wanted to do something nice for him. She had no money to buy him anything, but there had to be something she could do. She wasn't creative like Percy, but she still knew him. She knew how much he hated the monotony of life in the hospital.

Maybe she could plan a night of adventure. It would have to be a tame one; neither of them had the strength for anything crazy. Still, she had a feeling he'd appreciate even the slightest rebellion. She laid awake in bed, turning over idea after idea in her head.

* * *

On the day of August 18th, Annabeth was buzzing with excitement. She hadn't told anyone what she'd decided on doing—even Leo—and her heart was in her throat when she thought of all the things that could go wrong.

As soon as they woke up, her and Leo went and knocked on Percy's door, armed with a huge helium balloon that said, _You can now drink alcohol in some countries!_ on one side and _Happy 18th!_ on the other. Looking extremely tired, Percy opened the door as Annabeth and Leo screamed, "Happy birthday!"

It only took a moment for him to break into a grin. "God, I love you guys."

The three of them spent the whole day hanging out, making use of the hospital's leisure facilities. Though Annabeth was shit at pool, she stuck through several games of it for Percy's benefit. They played board games, too. "How the hell are you so good at Risk?" Leo grumbled as Annabeth smugly took Europe from him.

She grinned. "Superior strategy, I guess."

"Superior _luck,_ " Percy jabbed. "You roll so many sixes, I swear you must be cheating."

"Call it what you want," she said. "I'm still winning."

Barb let them order pizza to the hospital. "Just this once," she told them, "as it's Percy's eighteenth."

They relaxed in Percy's dorm with their pizza. Annabeth put a movie on— _We're The Millers_ —before tucking into hers. It had pineapple on it, which had made Percy gag in disgust. "God, get that shit out of my sight."

Annabeth took a big bite. "What's wrong with pineapple?"

Percy gave her an incredulous look. "You're not eating a fucking fruit salad."

"I know that!"

"So why'd you ruin it by getting pineapple?"

Leo grinned from across the room. "Ah, the timeless class war: a prideful New Yorker versus an ignorant Californian." Percy flipped him off, picking up a piece of his own pepperoni pizza.

Once the movie was over, Leo bid them goodbye and left for his own dorm. Percy looked content, all warm and soft around the edges. "Thanks for being here, Chase."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she told him. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was only eleven thirty. "But the day's not over yet."

Percy's brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Annabeth stood up, "that we're not done with the celebration." She opened the door, stepping into her trainers.

Percy watched her, eyes wide. "But we're not supposed to leave our rooms this late." Slowly, his mouth stretched into an understanding smile. "Annabeth, are you suggesting we go on a midnight adventure?"

"Only if it's a midnight date, too."

At that, Percy stood up. "It's a date, then," he said softly. Annabeth kind of wanted to scream a little bit, but decided that now wasn't the time.

They stole through the hallways together, keeping to the quiet areas. As Annabeth pushed open the door to the leisure hall, Percy asked, "Where are we going?" Annabeth didn't answer, only walked quickly towards the pool table. To Percy's evident confusion, she picked up a pool cue. "Are we here for a game?"

Annabeth held the pool cue in both hands. In the neon light, Percy's face looked ghostly. His cheekbones were jagged vacances of space, his eye sockets oceans of spilt ink. The misty tube of his cannula shone slightly, catching the light. "Did you know," Annabeth said, in her best tour-guide voice, "that a pool cue is five feet in length?"

Percy shook his head. "I didn't know that, actually."

"So, if you were to stand at one end of this, and I were to stand at the other, how far apart would we be?"

"Five feet apart," he said hoarsely. "But we can't—we're…we're not supposed to. It's six feet, minimum."

Annabeth shrugged. "Feel like reclaiming a little bit of space?"

Percy's mouth tugged into a smile. "Sounds like a plan." He stepped forward, taking hold of the end Annabeth was holding out to him with a plastic-gloved hand. With it, he pulled his body a foot closer to hers.

Instantly, the feeling of euphoria prickled Annabeth's chest. "Shall we walk?" she asked.

"I'd love to."

They didn't walk so much as stumble through the quieter hallways of the hospital, spinning around and around like idiots. Whenever they saw hospital staff, they quickly stepped into the shadows, laughing. They wandered across the hospital's glass bridge, staring out at Seattle's dazzling lights.

Percy looked happier than she'd ever seen him, overflowing with elation. Annabeth felt proud, kind of, at the realisation that _she'd_ done that. "I wish we could go and see them in person," he murmured.

"See what?"

He looked at her, tearing his gaze away from the city. "The lights."

Annabeth smiled at him. "It's just Seattle."

"Still pretty, though."

They stood in a stupor for a moment before Annabeth tugged on the pool cue, dragging Percy along. "Come on! There's somewhere I think we should go."

They headed down to the lower floors of the hospital. As Annabeth pushed open a pair of double doors, Percy looked confused. "Why are we here?" They'd emerged into the hospital's swimming pool. The main lights were off, so the room's only light source was the gentle blue glow that emanated from the lamps at the bottom of the pool.

Annabeth shrugged. "Don't you think it's beautiful?"

Percy stared into the water, enraptured by its eerie stillness. "I used to swim, you know," he said absently. "When I was young. Back when my lungs were healthier." Annabeth was silent for a moment, then tugged gently on the pool cue, guiding Percy forward. She sat down at the edge of the pool and started unlacing her shoes. Percy watched her, curious. "What are you doing?"

She laughed. "Come on, put your feet in with me."

After a moment's hesitation, Percy sat down with her. He placed the pool-cue between them, long-ways, and slipped off his shoes. Together, they lowered their feet into the water, letting it lap around their ankles. "God, it's freezing," Percy hissed.

"Guess they turn off the heater at night." Annabeth swished her feet around, enjoying the feel of the cold water between her toes. "How long's it been since you swam?" she asked him.

"Couple years, give or take. But I stopped swimming competitively years before that." Percy's face was angled downwards, lit up from beneath by the ghostly blue light. Then, as if it was a question about the weather, Percy asked, "What's your biggest fear?"

Annabeth laughed, startled. "Christ, I don't know. Spiders?"

He gave her a dry look. "That can't be true. _Spiders_ are the most terrifying thing in the world to you?"

Annabeth huffed. "You're probably right." She drew her knees into her chest, propping up her chin on them. "I don't know. Dying doesn't scare me—I've had way enough time to come to terms with it. I'm more afraid of what comes after. Being forgotten by the universe, fading away into irrelevance because I was too weak to leave enough of a mark during my life. I hate that nothing I do is permanent."

Percy frowned. "You shouldn't put that on yourself. It's the universe's fault you're stuck here in the first place. I don't think anyone could do something everlasting from the inside of a hospital."

She shook her head. "I know that, alright? But the thought still scares me." They were both quiet for a moment, contemplating. When Annabeth spoke, it was like shattering glass. "What's yours?"

"What?"

"Your biggest fear."

"Oh, right. Uh...probably watching my mom die. She's one of the only people I'd kill for, really."

"One of?" Annabeth prodded.

Percy grinned, a flash of teeth. "Don't be fucking stupid. You know I'd kill for you."

Annabeth couldn't look away from him. "I'd kill for you, too," she said softly.

At that, Percy's expression went shuttered. "I wish things weren't like this. I wish I could hold you."

"Hold me, then."

"No. You'll get my bacteria if you come any closer. Don't you want a chance at a lung transplant?"

Frustration went up in flames in Annabeth's gut. "Fuck new lungs. I want _you_."

"Well, you can't have me," Percy snapped. Immediately, he looked guilty. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just scared."

"It's okay. I'm scared, too." She wanted to reach out, to smooth out the crease in Percy's brow with her own fingertips. The awful impossibility of even that simple action chilled Annabeth to her bones. Suddenly, an idea struck her. She picked up her end of the pool cue and let it rest on her shoulder. Slowly, she moved it down her arm. Like a caress.

Percy let out a shuddering breath. "Annabeth..."

She shushed him, moving the cue back up her arm. Carefully, she used it to push down the sleeve of her blue cami-top, letting the spaghetti-sleeve fall down her shoulder to show the strap of her bra. An embarrassed heat rose to her ears, but the reverence on Percy's face showed no judgement.

Percy lifted a hand, as though he meant to reach for her. Instead, he picked up his end of the cue and moved it to Annabeth's other shoulder, carefully pushing down her other sleeve so both her shoulders were bare. "I really wish I could kiss you right now."

Annabeth took the cue from him and laid it on the floor. His words burned through her, electrifying. "Do you want to swim?" she asked. "We'll only go in the shallow end."

"But our clothes..."

"We'll swim in our underwear."

Percy looked a little delirious. "Sure, why not?"

Laughing, they both stripped to their underwear. Annabeth tried not to think about the surgery scars on her sternum and chest, how awful they looked. She supposed they didn't matter—Percy was scarred too. Somehow, it was comforting to know that both their bodies were ravaged in the same way.

After taking off their cannulas and laying them on the floor with their clothes, Annabeth and Percy stumbled into the cool water. Neither of them submerged their heads; Annabeth knew that wouldn't end well. Instead, they splashed around, chasing each other even as they kept their distance.

It was impossible for Annabeth to take her eyes off Percy, knowing this was the only time she'd see all of him. His limbs were hollowed and slanted, mirroring Annabeth's own weak body, but the vibrance of his green eyes outshone all of it. "You're beautiful," she told him, watching him push his wet hair out of his face.

"You don't need to lie," he told her. "I know I look like a corpse."

Annabeth smiled. "Yeah. A beautiful corpse." Grinning, he splashed her. She shrieked, shielding her face. "Hey! I've been trying to avoid getting my hair wet!"

"Sorry," he apologised. "You still look lovely."

She rolled her eyes, wringing out her matted hair. "Come on, let's get out. I'm cold."

They dried off as best they could, slipping their clothes back on over damp skin. Annabeth's cheeks heated as she realised the soaked bra she'd swam in showed through her top. Percy seemed to notice her embarrassment. "Here, take this," he said, placing his hoodie on the floor and stepping away from it. Grateful, she took it and pulled it on.

Twenty minutes later, they were standing outside Percy's dorm. "So, how does it feel to be eighteen?" she asked him.

He shook his head. "Not that different. Liberating, I guess."

"That's good," she said quietly. They both fell silent for a moment, dwelling on all the unsaid words that hung heavy in the air. "You'll be leaving soon. Am I right in saying that?"

"God, I don't know. I'd been planning to, but..." He hesitated. "I feel like I've found something worth staying for."

Annabeth felt torn. "You don't need to. Stay, I mean."

"I know that."

"Seriously," she insisted. "Whatever this is, it's not a relationship. It could never be. I don't want you to sacrifice the limited time you have left for a girl you can't even touch, let alone be with."

Percy's expression was vacant, unreadable. "It wouldn't be a sacrifice," he said softly.

Annabeth felt cowed. She stared at the floor, at the six feet they'd once again established between them. She knew it was different for him than it was for her. Finally, she was close to the top of the transplant list. For Annabeth, hope was pale but still visible on the horizon. Meanwhile, Percy would never in a million years get a transplant—not with B. cepacia colonising his lungs. "Whatever you choose to do," she said, unable to lift her eyes from the floor, "be selfish, okay?"

"I will."

"Promise?" Annabeth looked up.

He nodded. "I promise." There was a furrow between his brows again. Annabeth watched as he stepped inside his dorm, offering her a smile as he closed the door.

She turned around, feeling more tired than she ever had before.

* * *

For the next few days, they went on as though nothing had happened. Denial seemed to be the easiest way forward, so they clung to it like a lifeline. Every day, Annabeth became more and more afraid that she'd wake up to find out that Percy had left without saying goodbye, even though she knew he wouldn't do that.

Leo seemed to pick up on the change of tone. "What's going on between you and Percy?" he asked her one day, sipping his smoothie. Lately, Leo's CF had been taking even more of a toll on him. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced, his dark skin unusually greyish. Annabeth was worried about him, though Leo would kill her if she ever mentioned it.

She sighed, picking at her pasta. It was cold, which was a given for hospital food. "I don't know. He's eighteen now, and with his Cevaflomin trial coming to an end he's thinking about leaving. I can't even be mad at him for it—it's what I would do if I were him."

"Are you gonna ask him to stay?"

Annabeth shook her head vigorously. "No, of course not. I feel stupid even thinking about it. There's a whole fucking world out there. I'm one person. What's tethering him here?"

Leo shrugged. "Don't think about it too hard. It's his decision." With that, he slurped up the rest of his smoothie.

Annabeth thumped her head on the table. "Why do I bother asking you for advice?"

That night, Annabeth curled up by her window as she often did, staring out into Seattle. It was raining; drops of water trailed down her windowpane, making the world beyond appear murky and half-formed. _The Buddha of Suburbia_ was open on her lap, forgotten.

Annabeth's thoughts were fractured, running rampant. Her fingers itched for her phone so she could call Percy, hear his voice. Still, something was telling her not to. Maybe giving him space was best—it might make it easier for him to leave.

She climbed into bed, hoping sleep would find her.

The next day, Annabeth slept in. She was woken up by Barb knocking on her door, calling, "Annabeth! You alright in there?"

She got up and opened the door for Barb, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. "What?"

Barb frowned at her. "You never sleep in this late. Is everything okay?"

Annabeth nodded. "I'm just tired," she croaked, then plunged into a coughing fit.

"Right, you need to put on your concussion vest. You sound dangerously congested."

"Aren't I always?"

"Ha, ha. Very funny. Now go put it on—I'll get some bowls for you to heave up the mucus into."

Annabeth put on her vest and went to sit down. Barb was right. She was struggling for breath. With all the Percy stress, she hadn't been following her regimen quite as carefully as she should be, especially being so close to a possible transplant. As Annabeth went into another coughing fit, Barb returned with the bowls. Annabeth grabbed one, feeling mucus move up her throat. She bent over it, squeezing her eyes shut as she coughed and coughed.

Barb placed a steadying hand on her back. "There we are. Let it drain out, love."

After an hour, Annabeth's throat was raw. Barb murmured comforting words to her, helping her out of the vest. "Feeling better?"

"Define _better_ ," Annabeth said hoarsely.

Barb clicked her tongue. "Now, that's not the attitude to have." As she started loading Annabeth's bowls onto a tray, she said, "Something's been worrying you, hasn't it?"

"How did you know?"

Barb smiled. "It's clear as day, sweetheart. And I think I can guess who it might be to do with."

"It's nothing," Annabeth muttered.

"You and Percy aren't nothing. Over the last couple months, I've noticed how happy you've made each other. Of course, I'm reluctant to condone it as you're both CFers and at risk of infecting each other with your bacteria, but..." She shrugged. "That boy was a lost cause before you came along. You've been giving him hope, Annabeth, where there's none to be found. I'm grateful for it."

Annabeth flopped back on her bed, closing her eyes. "None of that matters, though. He wants to leave."

Barb went quiet for a moment. "So this is what's been bothering you," she sighed. "Annabeth, just because he needs to be somewhere other than where you are doesn't mean you're bad for him. This is going to happen dozens more times in your life—with friends, with family. With lovers. Loss isn't evil in itself. It doesn't negate all the good you've done for each other."

Annabeth could feel herself starting to cry. "But it's not fair _._ My life has never been fair. Everything's always been shit. I'm not even asking for a perfect life! I'm asking for one thing. I want one _fucking_ tiny thing and I'm not allowed to have it." Barb gathered her into a hug as the tears started to flow. Annabeth's voice broke, hoarse and tired. "I'm not allowed to have him."

Barb held her close as she cried. "I know, love. I know."

Annabeth stayed in bed for the rest of the day, wallowing in her thoughts. Her breaths came slow and ragged, even with her cannula. She stared up at her fluorescent ceiling light, letting it burn a hazy white spot into her retina.

It was about ten 'o' clock when someone knocked on her door. Annabeth ignored it for a few moments, unwilling to get out of bed where she'd been napping. Whoever it was knocked again, calling, "Annabeth!"

That was Percy's voice. Reluctantly, Annabeth got out of bed. She opened the door, rubbing her eyes. "What?"

Percy looked stressed, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. "Don't flip out, okay? Leo's gone into intensive care. He's had some sort of flare-up. They won't tell me what's going on."

Annabeth gaped. " _What?_ Oh, God. I need to see him."

"It's bad, Annabeth. I saw them wheeling him out of his dorm. I don't know how long he hadn't been breathing before that."

"Fuck." Quickly, Annabeth stepped into her trainers, not bothering to tie them.

Together, they ran to intensive care. Barb was standing in the hallway, talking to another nurse. "...a lot of inflammation. They're attempting to drain his lungs now, but that may not work for long as there's barely any oxygen circulating his body. They're trying everything."

Annabeth ran up to Barb. "What's going on?"

Barb turned to her. "Annabeth, go back to your dorm. You too, Percy."

Annabeth glared at her, folding her arms. "No way. Can we see Leo? Is he gonna be okay?"

Barb looked pained. "I don't know, Annabeth. He's hooked up to life support. We don't know if he'll make it through the night."

Icy fear settled over Annabeth as she shared a horrified glance with Percy. "Please, let us see him," she begged. "What if he—what if he—" She slammed a hand over her mouth, feeling bile surge up from her stomach.

Barb placed a comforting hand on Annabeth's shoulder. "Leo's strong, Annabeth. Hopefully he'll pull through. He's had worse flare-ups than this in the past." She sighed. "Come on, I'll let you two see him. Quickly. Try not to get in the way, alright?"

When Annabeth laid eyes on Leo through the small window of the door to his surgery room, she let out a choking sob. Two doctors were standing over him, administering various substances through an IV. A tube disappeared into his side, draining fluids. Leo's eyelids fluttered open and closed as he tried to cling on to consciousness.

"Leo!" Annabeth grabbed for the door handle, all her instincts telling her to run to him.

Firmly, Barb held her back. "No, Annabeth! It's not safe. The last thing he needs right now is to catch your bacteria."

"I know. I know." After staring through the glass for a second longer, she stepped back to allow Percy to look. "Can we wait out here?" Barb looked skeptical, so Annabeth added, "Please."

Barb deflated. "Okay. I've got to go deal with another patient. You two better stay six feet apart, okay? Or I won't be happy."

They nodded obediently as Barb walked away. Annabeth sat down in a chair on one side of the hallway, while Percy stood by the other. Both of them were quiet for a moment before Percy said, "I don't understand. One minute he was fine, and the next..."

Annabeth stared into her lap at her plastic-gloved hands. "He always seems so invincible," she whispered.

Percy nodded, unable to say anything more.

They waited outside Leo's room for two hours. Doctors and nurses hurried in and out, discussing Leo's condition in hushed tones. Eventually, Barb came up to them. She looked exhausted. "He's stable for now." At that, Annabeth slouched with relief. "They've put him under anaesthetic," Barb continued. "He was in a lot of pain and was becoming delirious."

"Have you contacted Michael?" Percy asked.

"Yes. He's on his way to the hospital, but he told me he'll be a couple hours as he's out of town right now. You two won't be allowed in to visit as you're CFers and Leo's currently very high risk. Go back to your dorms, okay? It's past midnight. I'll let Leo know you were keeping vigil for him once he's awake. I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

Annabeth forced herself to nod. Her feet were trembling below her, and she wanted so badly to close the distance between her and Percy so she could steady herself using him.

Barb escorted them out of intensive care and walked them back to the CF dorm. Annabeth's mind was foggy. All she could think about was how easily Leo had succumbed to his condition, how close he'd come to death. She stood with Percy outside her dorm for a moment after Barb left them. "That could've been either of us," Percy said to her.

"I know."

"It scares me."

"It scares me, too," she admitted. Annabeth balled her hands into fists and leaned back against the door of her dorm. Ugly thoughts tore at her, whispering the consequences of resisting the compulsions threatening to set in. "Everything's so—so out of my control. I do anything about my lungs degenerating. I can't do anything about Leo's flare-ups. I can't do anything about..." She trailed off, not quite able to say _I can't do anything about you leaving._ That would be unfair—both on Percy and on her.

Percy's gaze was heavy. "Nothing's in our control. We can't do anything about anything. That's the way it works."

" _You're_ in control," she told him. "You're going away. You're choosing not to stay here."

Percy shook his head, almost violently. "No. No, I'm not. I'm not leaving you."

Annabeth could've crumpled right then. "You will."

"No. I won't." And hell, Percy sounded so sure of himself that Annabeth was half-inclined to believe him.

Annabeth whirled around and opened the door to her dorm. Behind her, Percy called, "Annabeth, wait!" Without answering, she grabbed her coat off its hook. She shrugged it on, stepping back out of her dorm. Percy was staring at her, a confused look on his face. "Where are you going?"

"A flare-up could happen to either of us, right? You said it yourself."

"Yeah, and?"

" _And,_ I don't want to die without at least seeing the lights. I haven't left this fucking hospital in months."

Percy started shaking his head, holding out his hands. "Annabeth, no. Absolutely not. You can't risk it—you're so close to a transplant. When I said I wanted to see the lights, I didn't mean we should actually go! It's freezing out there; it's almost September! It's raining. You're not thinking straight, okay? I'm not letting you leave."

Annabeth stepped into his space, making him scramble back for fear of infecting her. "Well, you can't stop me." She marched down the hallway, ignoring the questioning glances of the nurses around her.

She could hear Percy jogging after her. "You can't go alone," he yelled, voice ragged.

Whirling around, she looked at him pleadingly. "Come with me, then."

Percy glanced left and right, as though someone was going to stop them. At last, he bowed his head. "Let me get my coat."

They ran out together, pushing open the glass doors. Rain was falling from the dark skies in sheets, pattering against the concrete beneath them. Annabeth fought back a shiver. Far ahead, the lights of Seattle glowed through the haze. Percy wrapped his coat around himself tighter, catching up with Annabeth. His hair was already soaked through, sticking to his face. Grinning at her, he admitted, "I kinda like this rebellious streak you've got. It's rubbing off on me."

She smiled. Reaching out with a gloved hand, she raised a brow. "Wanna be even more rebellious?"

He hesitated. "I don't know, Annabeth..."

"It's only our hands. It won't kill us."

Cautiously, Percy reached out and laced his fingers through hers. She could feel the warmth of his skin, even through the plastic of their gloves. He let out a disbelieving laugh. "You don't know how many times I've thought about holding your hand."

Annabeth rolled her eyes, but a blush rose to her cheeks. "Come on, let's head to that little bridge. We'll be able to see the whole city from there."

They hurried through the rain as quickly as their weak lungs would allow them to, hands joined. The golden light of the city reflected on Percy's face as they approached the bridge, setting his green eyes alight. Annabeth almost lost the last of her breath at the sight of him. "You good?" he asked.

She nodded, embarrassed to be caught staring. "Yeah."

They leaned against the side of the arching stone bridge, gazing out over Seattle. The river below them was usually slow-moving and shallow, but now it had come alive, lashed into action by the pouring rain. "I'm glad we get to see this," Percy said, eyes on the golden city before them.

"It's beautiful," she agreed. In her pocket, her phone started ringing. One glance told her it was the hospital—they'd probably noticed her absence. She switched it off. There were more important things right now. She took Percy's gloved hand and dragged him back into the middle of the bridge. "Dance with me."

He laughed, spinning her around. Neither of them knew any steps, but it was easy to move to the beat of the rain. Annabeth was so cold that she could barely feel her fingertips, but she didn't care; this newfound freedom was intoxicating. Annabeth wanted to make it last as long as she could. "I really like you, you know," Percy whispered. His words were almost lost to the vicious, unending hammering of the rain around them.

"I really like you, too."

Reverently, Percy tucked a wet strand of Annabeth's hair away from her face. She wanted to kiss him so badly—and she would've. She would've, if not for the cruel truth that any contact with the air in his mouth would almost definitely give her B. cepacia, effectively taking away the possibility of a transplant and fracturing her lifespan. "It'd be nice to kiss you," she told him.

"Yeah. It would," he breathed. "I don't mind just this, though. This isn't a—a sacrifice, like you think it is. You know that, right? It's a gift."

She couldn't look him in the eyes, too overwhelmed and confused by everything. Instead, she zipped up his coat with shaking hands. "You look cold."

In the distance, lightning forked through the clouds over Seattle. Percy counted under his breath until thunder crashed several seconds later. "It's only a few miles away."

Annabeth ran to the side of the bridge, watching and waiting for more lightning. "We're pretty high up. Do you think we'll get struck?"

"Maybe. I reckon we'd survive, though."

Annabeth grinned. She was so cold, she was certain her lips were blue. "Yeah. Two dying kids with cystic fibrosis would easily survive thousands of volts of electricity arcing through their bodies."

"It could happen."

"Sure, Einstein." Feeling brave, Annabeth hoisted herself up onto the side of the stone bridge, letting her legs dangle over the edge.

Percy grabbed her coat, trying to pull her back. "Are you crazy?"

"Hypocrite," she laughed. "Already forgotten the first time we met?"

"That's different," he argued. "Please, come down."

"It's only a two-metre drop into the river. And anyway, you won't let me fall. Come on, sit with me. Let's watch the lightning."

Percy huffed, giving in. He pulled himself up next to her, knuckles white on the stone bricks. Another lightning bolt crashed down into the city, followed by more thunder. "That one was closer," he said.

Annabeth leaned against his shoulder, relaxing into him. The fabric of his coat was wet and cold against her cheek, but she didn't mind. "Thanks for coming with me," she murmured. "I appreciate it."

"I don't need thanks. I'd come with you anywhere—even if there's a chance I'll get hypothermia," he teased.

They sat there for a few minutes, listening to the rushing river and the thunder far above them. Annabeth was finding it hard to breathe; her cannula wasn't enough to combat the cold settling into her body. "We should go," she said, standing up on the side of the bridge.

One second Annabeth was steady, holding onto Percy's shoulder. The next, a loose brick slipped beneath her. She let out a hoarse scream, scrabbling to find a foothold in the crumbling mortar. The exact moment she lost balance replayed a thousand times in the focal point of her mind as she fell.

"Annabeth—!" Percy grabbed her coat, but with only one hand on the wall behind him he didn't have enough leverage to haul them both up. Her weight dragged him down. Barely a second later, they were both falling.

* * *

PERCY

The water encased Percy like a tomb, shocking him to the skin and distorting his senses. Battered by the current, he lost hold of Annabeth's coat. He was underwater, submerged. Kicking desperately, he broke the surface and drew in a ragged breath. Already, he could feel his lungs self-destructing.

"Annabeth!" he spluttered. He looked around frantically as he struggled to stay afloat. Annabeth was nowhere to be seen. She hadn't broken the surface. Maybe she'd hit her head. Without hesitation, Percy inhaled sharply and plunged back underwater, eyes open as he searched. There! A darker shape amidst the dark water, slowly sinking. He swam for Annabeth as hard as he could, calling on the years of swimming he'd committed himself to before his body had failed him.

His hands locked onto her coat. He dragged her upwards, panicking as every electrified nerve in him screamed for oxygen. God, they weren't going to make it. _Maybe she's already dead,_ a voice in his head whispered. He silenced it, closing his eyes as he kicked harder, begging his fragile limbs not to break. Blue light streamed down in shafts through the water, washing over him.

Percy didn't know how he managed it. Fighting both the furious river and his ailing lungs, he hauled himself and Annabeth up to the riverbank, laying her down in the mud. Her eyes were shut, her lips blue. Was she breathing? He seized her arm, pulling the sleeves of her coat down to expose her wrist. He pressed two fingers to her vein, checking for a pulse—and reared back as her bare skin burned him.

Right on her wrist where he'd touched her for the first time, a soulmark slowly blossomed. Two small, glimmering silver ovals in the shape of fingerprints.

Percy cried out, staring at his own silver-stained fingers. His soulmate _._ Annabeth was his _soulmate_.

And she was dying.

Percy pressed a hand to her cheek, muttering, "No. No. Wake up, please wake up." He dug for his phone in his pocket, hoping to God it wasn't completely broken by water damage. The screen turned on. He dialled 911 as fast as he could, rambling their location and situation with one hand resting on Annabeth's cold cheek. He threw down his phone as salty tears bit at his eyes. "Annabeth," he choked out.

Folding one hand over the other, he started administering CPR, pressing down in jerking motions on her chest. Resuscitating her could give her B. cepacia, ruining her life, but she was dying anyway. Holding open her jaw, he summoned all the air he could and blew into her mouth. "Come on," he said hoarsely, blowing into her mouth again. "Don't die. Please don't die."

Annabeth's skin was pale, bereft of its usual colour. Percy couldn't shake the image of a corpse from his head. He kept going, feeling himself becoming faint as he gave Annabeth all his air. His lungs couldn't handle it.

Far off in the distance, Percy could hear sirens. His vision was tinged black around the edges, but he held onto consciousness with a vice grip. He pushed Annabeth's beautiful blonde hair away from her face, gasping for another breath to give her. As he blew one last breath of air into his soulmate's broken lungs, he felt his awareness fade into nothing.

* * *

Percy came back to himself in a hospital bed, an IV connected to his arm. His chest burned with pain—it felt like someone had poured battery acid down his windpipe. "God," he croaked.

He dimly registered Barb standing over him. Her dark brows were furrowed, but they relaxed when she saw he was awake. "Oh, Percy! You're awake." A second later, though, the relief on her face was replaced by anger. "Do you know how stupid you've been, how reckless? You two nearly got each other killed!"

"I'm aware, thanks," Percy said, voice hoarse.

Barb folded her arms. "Well, are you _aware_ that Annabeth had a lung transplant waiting for her? We were alerted just as you two disappeared. We sent out goddamn search parties."

Percy's thoughts stumbled over each other, trying to catch up with what Barb was saying. "Wait—a lung transplant? Have they gone through with it?"

"She's in surgery now. It might all be for nought, though—she may have B. cepacia. We won't know until the transplant is complete."

"Did it...did it mean anything?" he asked. _Did he risk transferring his bacteria to her for no reason?_

Barb's features softened. "Yes, Percy. You kept her alive. If you hadn't administered CPR, Annabeth would be dead. You saved her. If she has B. cepacia, we'll deal with it, okay?"

Percy closed his eyes. "Good," he murmured. The word was barely audible. He opened his eyes again, remembering something. Slowly, he lifted his right hand. A shimmering, silver mark covered his fingertips. "I thought I hallucinated it," he said quietly.

Barb glanced at his hand with a smile. "That's a beautiful soulmark." Percy stared at the mark, terrified it would disappear if he so much as blinked.

Once Percy felt strong enough to get out of bed, he went and sat in the waiting room outside the major surgery ward. Annabeth was still inside. Her dad was standing by the door, talking to a doctor. Percy sat down in a chair and resigned himself to the wait.

* * *

It seemed like an eternity. Percy went to sleep in his chair a few times, unwilling to miss any updates on Annabeth. The whole operation took seven hours. Towards the end of it, Leo showed up. He looked rough.

"Thank God you're okay," Percy said. "They wouldn't let either of us see you."

"Yeah. I pulled through—barely. We'll see about next time." Leo took a seat, raising a brow. "I heard about what happened. You're fucking insane, you know that?"

"She's the insane one, not me."

"Yeah, yeah. You encourage each other, to be honest." At that, Percy laughed. He sounded delirious even to his own ears.

When an assistant surgeon finally emerged from the operating room bearing good news, Percy almost sobbed with relief. Annabeth's dad disappeared inside to see her. Percy begged to be allowed in, but of course he wasn't.

After a while, Poseidon showed up. At the sight of him, mixed emotions bubbled up in Percy. After allowing Poseidon to hug him, he asked, "Where's Mom?"

Poseidon grimaced. "She's trying to get on a flight. But with the storm..."

"Yeah, okay."

An awkward silence followed. Poseidon cleared his throat. "I'm glad you're alright, Percy."

Barb took Poseidon and Percy into a consulting room. His dad sat down, but Percy remained standing. "Firstly, I thought I'd let you know that Annabeth's bacterial cultures have come back," she told him.

Percy laced his fingers together, squeezing his hands tight. "And? Does she have it?"

Barb smiled. "No. I don't know how, but she's clean."

Percy exhaled raggedly, closing his eyes. "That's good."

"Yes. But that's not what I need to talk to you about." Barb picked up her clipboard. "You've been on Cevaflomin for a few months now. We've been analysing your results." She turned the clipboard around to show Percy, but none of the medical jargon made any sense to him.

"Is it working?" Poseidon asked.

Barb looked pained. "No. Not currently," she said quietly. "And as I'm sure you're aware, Percy's now eighteen. If he wishes to, he can sign out of the trial himself." With pleading eyes, Poseidon turned to Percy.

He stared at the floor. The tile below him was cracked, splintered into jagged pieces of ceramic. Fault lines. Blankly, Percy said, "I need more time to think."

* * *

ANNABETH

Annabeth was bound to her bed for two days after the transplant. She kept waking up in fits and starts, never conscious for more than ten minutes at a time. Her entire body was numb, reduced to white noise. The faces beside her bed kept changing: Barb, her dad, Nurse Elody. Not Percy, though. Never him.

At first, she couldn't remember what happened. The memory of that night resurfaced like splinters from skin—slowly, painfully. She wanted to know if Leo was okay, if he'd had another flare-up since. Was Percy going to come and see her? These thoughts drifted through her mind, aimless and untethered as shooting stars.

When she finally came to, her dad was asleep in a chair by her bed. "Dad," she croaked. Her voice was muffled by the oxygen mask over her face, but Frederick heard her.

He rubbed his eyes, nearly pushing his glasses off his face. "Annabeth! How are you feeling?" Smiling, he took her hand. "You did amazing, darling." Turning around, he called, "Nurse!"

Barb appeared through the door. "How do you feel, sweetheart?" she asked.

"Fine," Annabeth managed. "Where's Percy?"

"I had a feeling you might ask that," she said. "Are you feeling good enough to move? He set something up for you."

The thought of seeing Percy was a livewire in Annabeth's head. She nodded. "Help me sit up."

The oxygen mask over Annabeth's face was replaced by her cannula. Barb carefully lowered her into a wheelchair, ensuring she wouldn't pop any stitches. Annabeth felt slightly ill at the fact someone else's lungs were in her chest, but she shook off the nausea. These lungs were buying her another few years of life—who cared if they weren't her own?

Barb wheeled her down to the waiting room at the front of the hospital. On one side was a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out onto the street. "Where is he?" Annabeth asked. Right then, Annabeth's phone started ringing in the pocket of her dressing gown. She took it out. The screen read _Percy._

"Go on, take the call," Barb told her. She handed Annabeth a flat parcel. "Here. Don't open it yet, alright?" She left, leaving Annabeth alone in the dark waiting room.

Cautiously, Annabeth accepted the call. "Hi," she said hoarsely.

"Hey," Percy said. His voice was crackly in her ear, all static. "They said the operation went well."

Annabeth nodded, before realising Percy couldn't see her. "Yeah. It did."

"I'm glad," he said quietly. "You had me worried for a second there."

Annabeth half-smiled. "Sorry," she said.

Percy was silent on his end of the line for a moment before he spoke. "My drug trial's not working," he told her. "I want you to know that the months I've spent with you will last forever for me. I'm happy that—" he said, stumbling over the words, "that you were a part of the end of my life. It means more than you can imagine."

"Percy..." Annabeth began, but the words failed her.

"You don't need to speak. Just watch. I thought I'd bring the lights to you, this one time."

Outside the window, rows of golden fairy lights flickered into existence. Annabeth gasped. They were beautiful, more beautiful than Seattle ever could've hoped to be. A figure emerged from the road and walked up to the window. It took Annabeth a few moments to realise that it was Percy. A bag was slung over his shoulder and he was wearing a coat. All at once, it struck Annabeth that he was leaving.

Through the glass, he could've been a ghost. The lights lit him up from behind, but his face was all shadows. His white earphone lead dangled, connected to the phone in his hand. "How are the new lungs?" he asked, his voice still coming in over the phone.

"They seem to work," Annabeth said hoarsely. "You saved my life, didn't you?"

He laughed, but the sound was broken and tired. "I almost gave you B. cepacia."

"Still, I'm alive."

Percy looked down at his feet, smiling. "You are." Hesitantly, he reached out and touched the glass with a gloved hand. Annabeth mirrored the action. Their fingertips were almost touching, separated only by a sheer windowpane. "You scared me," he said. "Watching you almost die, it...it made me realise what's really at stake. This second chance you've been given matters more than anything. I can't believe we almost fucked it up."

"But we didn't."

"That doesn't mean we won't." Percy let out a tired sigh, scuffing his shoe on the concrete below him. "I'm sorry, Annabeth."

"No. Don't do this," she begged. Salt began to prickle at Annabeth's eyes. "I need you. I need you here."

"You don't," he said. To Annabeth's surprise, he pulled off his glove. "I know _this_ might say otherwise, but I promise you don't. Believe me."

Annabeth's heart stopped. Percy's fingertips were stained silver, beautifully stark in the dim light. "What?" she breathed. "Where did you...?"

"Your left wrist," he replied. Disbelieving, Annabeth raised her arm. A matching soulmark glimmered there: two imperfect ovals. Like he'd been trying to take her pulse.

Annabeth couldn't stop staring at it. "It's been months since we met. How didn't we know?"

"I never even suspected," Percy admitted. "Though I think that's mostly 'cause I never let myself think a soulmate was in my cards."

Closing her eyes tight, Annabeth said, "You're not allowed to leave. I won't let you."

"You can't do anything about it." He sounded exhausted.

"Percy, please—"

"Listen to me," he interrupted. "You've been given a second chance. I'm not letting you fuck it up, alright? I want you to be safe."

"I'm safe with _you_."

"You're not," he said. "Think about what happened at the bridge. Do you think I want to be apart from you? Do you think I'd be leaving if there was any other goddamn way?"

"There must be one," Annabeth pleaded.

"There isn't." Percy pulled his glove back on, once again hiding his soulmark from sight. "I'm planning to travel for as long as I can before I bite the dust. Try and make up for lost time."

Annabeth shook her head slowly, blinking tears from her vision. It hurt to admit it, but Percy was right. It would be selfish of her to keep him here, with so little time left. And it would be selfish of him to stay, given the risk of infecting her with B. cepacia. "Will you call me?" she asked, hating the tremor in her words.

"Yeah, of course," he said. "Though I'm not sure I'll be able to resist flying straight back here as soon as I hear your voice." He was quiet for a moment, then added, "I've been happier knowing you than I ever was before. I just want you to remember that."

"You're an idiot if you think I'd ever forget you," she managed, voice wavering.

Percy's smile was half-formed and tender. "Your new lungs are gonna last, okay?"

Annabeth was angry that Percy was leaving, angry that she'd found her soulmate only to lose him again. If given the chance, she'd trade her new lungs for just a couple more hours with him—and that was the whole damn problem. "Maybe. For a few years," she said bitterly.

"You're wrong. I think you've got more time than that." He paused. "Can you...can you shut your eyes? I don't know if I can leave while you're watching."

Annabeth gazed at him for a moment longer, committing the jagged planes of his face to memory. Knuckles white on the arm of her wheelchair, she nodded. "Yeah." Even now, with her eyes shut, she could just about see the haze of Percy's fairy lights through her lids.

"I'm gonna miss you," he murmured. The words were nothing but radio static through her phone.

"I'd fucking hope so," she answered. With a final tone, the call cut off. Annabeth couldn't bring herself to open her eyes.

Later, Annabeth opened the parcel Barb had left her. It was a sketchbook— _Percy's_ sketchbook. Alone in her recovery room, she flipped through the pages with a careful kind of reverence. Most of the drawings were charcoal, but some were watercolour. There were drawings of the hospital, drawings of Leo. Drawings of Annabeth _._

He'd drawn her reading at her windowsill, knees tucked up beneath her. He'd drawn her sleeping in the atrium, sprawled out on the coach. He'd drawn her eyes, her hands, her shoulders: dozens of fragmented recollections of the time they'd spent together. Annabeth almost started crying again, even though she'd done that for hours already.

When she closed the sketchbook and went to sleep, her ruined chest ached a little less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! hope this one didn't make you cry too much haha. 
> 
> if you're after more percabeth to read, then try checking out my profile! I've written way too much stuff about these lovebirds. also, I'm in the process of writing a multi-chapter slowburn in which percy and annabeth are childhood friends and I'm aiming to start uploading it soon so keep an eye out for that if you're interested :)
> 
> the pinterest board for this fic can be found here: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/suicidal_stolen_art/the-air-in-your-woven-mouth/


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